


the wild hunt.

by peternureyev



Category: Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: M/M, Mark-centric, Wild Hunt, no caps, overly poetic, second person? kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6470392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peternureyev/pseuds/peternureyev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it was something beautiful, and yet something carnal, the feel of a lover’s fingernails, sharpened to a point, ripping down your back, this sensual delirium, head flung back and lips parted, inhaling the cool rain, skeletons of the lost crumbling beneath the hooves of your steed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the wild hunt.

the wild hunt was many things.

it was a dance, a soft and intricate waltz that grew faster and faster, harder and harder to keep up with until it escalated into something ancient, something _more_. less a dance and more a ritual, a promise, bringing a sacrifice to the altar that was the night. a burning arrow into the night. fingers laced together, vows and promises.

it was the intense thirst and hunger throbbing through your veins, demanding and all-consuming and so, so numb. the way that your mouth went dry and your hands began to shake at the reigns of your steed, and the way you cried out in a language that no mortal should rightly know, for anything, anything, just a drop of water. the overwhelming urge to drop off, to loosen your grip and let go, to just let yourself fall, down through the starry blanket of night and into nothingness, but the way that you knew you never would.

it was a battle, a fight for dominance, pushing yourself harder and harder through the curtain of void, dancing lights flickering above you and deep oceans whispering and crashing just beneath your horse’s hooves. an aggressive, violent onslaught of certainty that the world was so small and yet so large, and that the universe was both larger and smaller at the same time. the violation of everything that made you yourself and turned you into nothing more than a set of monochrome eyes glinting like narrowed stars, the sharp tang of blood and bark mingling in your mouth and the taste of the wild upon your tongue.

it was something beautiful, and yet something carnal, the feel of a lover’s fingernails, sharpened to a point, ripping down your back, this sensual delirium, head flung back and lips parted, inhaling the cool rain, skeletons of the lost crumbling beneath the hooves of your steed. it was the overwhelming desire that took you late at night, a little way off from the rest of the camp, caresses snatched in secret moments and kisses on necks and thighs and shoulder blades. the wish, the will, the _want_ to be invincible that those moments granted you; a single blanket, shared.

it was tantalising and passionate, catching glimpses of lost civilisations rising up out of the clouds and mist, spires high and unreachable, those curving, crumbling buildings that whispered _come_ _away_ , _come_ _away_ and called your name when no other could hear, only to be snatched away again in seconds. the silence, the noise, the pausing and taking and your slender fingers stroking dust that had not been disturbed in millennia.

it was the faces of those that surrounded you, pointed ears, eyes slanting, squinting through the dust or wind or rain or snow, languages blending and murmuring together. the textures and colours of their skin; harsh and dark and demanding and soft and light and pleading and changing, ever changing. the numerous, anonymous brothers and sisters and others, glimpsed through the fading light, catching the eye of the rider next to you and feeling your heart swoop and soar. comradeship and companionship side by side with anger and enmity.

the feeling of pushing your hand through another’s hair, watching it shift to the beautiful lilac of contentment and the wicked, thrilling dark of passion and the navy of uncertainty, the bewitching, electrifying pale, silvery blue of nerves and the shock white of pain and fear. the white that you never wanted to see, that scared you and reminded you of long faded scars and a never faded _mark_ and teasing and tormenting and some sort of screaming in a life that you had left behind. the white that whispered _we are not so different_ , _you and i_ , and lying side by side, comforting each other, _i am complete, i am complete,_ the brush of a hand and _no, **we** are complete._

and despite that, it was never home, was it? **_we are complete_** , had that meant nothing? brushed aside like tears.

nothing, you tell yourself. it meant nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> no caps because i'm lazy and also aesthetic™   
> i finished lady midnight yesterday and i am kierark t r a s h omg 
> 
> follow me on tumblr wylaneck.tumblr.com for more mess and poems


End file.
